


You Love Like Rockets

by covertCalligrapher



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Sex, Smut, but i might add stuff as i get bored and feel like it, now it's a twoshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 16:43:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/covertCalligrapher/pseuds/covertCalligrapher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Passing Conscription Day allowed Karkat Vantas to have the life of a threshcutioner. The love of his pitiful life commands most of his aspects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey you know what's great? People telling me how to get better!

Terezi Pyrope is bright and insane.

 

Her eyes have been on fire ever since the two of you were young, just three sweeps old. When she lost her sight, the fire didn't go out. In fact, the fire grew brighter, consuming all she threw her dead gaze at. Though she can't see through her eyes, she knows so much more than the casual observer.

 

You're name is Karkat Vantas and you have somehow escaped the cull.

 

Through your amazing powers of retention and get-go attitude, you have joined the ranks of the threshcutioners. Many have died for, by, and because of your curved blade. Hiding your place off the spectrum was and still is something that remains a growing task everyday. You can't get a cut in practice, you cannot get a bruise, scrap, break . Your secret is with you at all times, only visible to you.

 

Terezi sees that it remains that way.

 

You've come to expect her, to take for granted the way your curse is held safe in her eyes. Her swift reign of justice easily matches any resistance so far to you, and you hate her for how much she loves you.

 

Your relationship is a strange one, one you can't quite fit into a smooth grid. You're sure as hell not going to try and break her into pieces to press into place, but you still fear the drones.

 

Right now though, the only thing you fear is her.

 

She's harsh and unforgiving. She breaks pieces of you off and replaces them with her own. You wouldn't give back those chunks of her for anything in this universe or the next.

 

She sees you at your private block. No, she _commanded_ that she come to your block. She entered your password, something you did not tell her, knowing she'd find out anyway.

 

She enters and she asks you how your day was.

 

“Oh, fucking _great,_ ” you say, stripping off your threshcutioner armor. You'd just gotten back from an assignment off-shuttle and you are _tired._

 

But knowing Terezi, she didn't come here to ask you how well a troll had died.

 

“That's what you always say,” Terezi pushes out through sharp teeth made of glass and malice. “Tell me something different, candy boy.”

 

You hate her words for you. You love her elbows and knives.

 

You come up to her and lean over her in the seat she planted herself in upon entry to your block. “She was a teal just like you. But instead of having broken eyes she had a broken mind. Took a nasty spill and was basically a vegetable with the higher-functioning abilities of a sack of grubloaf.”

 

Your words say mercy kill and her face says justice.

 

She smiles even wider and you can see her eyes narrow behind her glasses. “I hung a criminal today. It was a delicious execution, the rope was a lovely blue color for the troll presiding over. The guilty was a red with the most delicious flavor.”

 

“Your lust for all things illegal is legitimately frightening.”

 

She leans up and brushes her lips against yours. “It reminded me of you, but not as fucked up,” she whispers against your face. Her cool breath teases your skin, makes it grow warmer and feel less tired.

 

You close the short distance between your flushed faces and she grabs a hold of you eagerly. Her mouth moves on yours with a vigor only possessed by the passionate and criminally insane.

 

Your own hands fly around her, hoisting her up and around your waist. Her legs lock there, holding her stuck fast to your bare chest. Her uniform is cool against your burning flesh.

 

Her teeth clack with yours and cut your lips. You break yourself against her sharp edges and the fragments get stuck under her skin. You are completely positive you wreck her just as much as she wrecks you.

 

You stumble backward as she continues to gnaw on your lips, not even really kissing you anymore, just trying to hurt you or maybe just trying to feel you.

 

You continue to fall back until your legs knock against the large sofa that comes equipped in most blocks. You turn around and toss her onto it, knocking the wind out of her. You shuck the rest of your armor, pulling piece after piece off until you're down to the pants you wear to protect your legs from the chaffs of the metal.

 

You turn back and Terezi hasn't moved an inch.

 

She's laying on the cushions, her short, spiky hair fanned out around her head like a halo of the wretched angels told about in your lore. Her glasses fell off and lie next to her. You take them and throw them across the block, careful not to throw them into something that might break them.

 

She lifts her head and her eyes roll to look at you. The red spheres lock on you and you jump on her. The springs and stuffing creak under the combined weight of the two of you. You lay on her, pinning her to the cushions.

 

She tries to get within snapping range, but you keep your face out of the path of her dangerous fangs. You're straddling her and you look down at her from your place above her. Dark hair and sharp horns, she's lovely this way. She's as beautiful as a wild animal and twice as dangerous.

 

You strip her of her gloves. They slide off her gray skin smoothly; she's letting you undress her. You don't care, she doesn't let you do anything. You always have to take it and hold tightly what you can. You lean down and press your lips to hers again. You take her in, holding her preoccupied while you undo the simple snap buttons on her vest.

 

It falls off easily, the garment soon being discarded along with the metal band displaying her symbol around her midsection.

 

You kneel down in front of her. You tug her boots off slowly and toss them aside one after the other. Once you start to work on removing her vented skirt, you see obvious signs of distress on her face.

 

Her eyes are half-lidded and her lip is being worried. A blush adorns her cheeks and you feel yourself warming as well. The arousal is evident on her face and it's making you a bit too warm under your belt.

 

You pull off her skirt and admire her in her leggings and long-sleeved shirt. The teal of the fabric makes the flushed parts of her body glow more brightly, a light-up sign of the things you are capable of doing to her. You watch her as she opens and closes her legs in anticipation, the muscles twitching under her skin.

 

You smile and lean down in front of her again. Your fingers lightly run their way up her legs and you hear her gasp lightly. You grin even wider, _she's gonna fucking_ _ **sing**_ _for you._

 

And she does.

 

You press your hand to the junction of her legs. She lets out a moan and opens her legs more to accommodate you. You press to her again and when she yells at you to get back up here you dumb fuck, you remove your fingers.

 

You pull her pants from her, her underwear coming off with them. She smiles sharply and sits up, pulling off her shirt. You reach for her immediately. Her spheres are held in place by a metal apparatus placed there solely to torment you, but you manage to detach the garment with little bloodshed.

 

Her breasts fall free and you do not hesitate to abuse. You sit and grab her by the shoulders, pulling her onto your lap. Your back to the wall of the cushion pile, she's straddling you and she thinks she's in control.

 

She is at the moment and she abuses her power.

 

She immediately pushes down onto your bulge, rubbing roughly against the front of your pants. She feels insane, rough, ugly, perfect. You scrape your way along her shoulders, eliciting soft screams and harsh coos from her. Your hands go to her breasts. You circle, tweak, pinch her. She cries out with each attack, her voice growing more and more erratic as you fight her.

 

She strikes with a vengeance. Her hands are wicked and blessed, and they make short work of your belt and pants. She pulls herself away from you to tear them off, viscous in her attempt to be tender. She takes from you, resuming your ritual.

 

You catch her as she's about to remove your last article of clothing. You can't let her, she'll think she's won and take that inch just to make it into a mile. You press her down, ram your hips into her. She doesn't moan or make soft _anything._ She growls at you, harsh and demanding. She presses back and her arousal is obvious with the vigor and degree of her retaliation.

 

You won't let her _win_ ; you're an official, goddammit.

 

You crawl down her body, the teal flush looking so enticing right now. She's actually docile, waiting to see if you'll harm or help. You make good use of her silence.

 

You're skilled at finding her weak spots, a map of her body you've formed over the sweeps of being collared by the cold love of your life. Your fingers press around her hips, the dip of skin stretching between makes her sigh. You rub soft circles into her mound, the sighs becoming cries of excitement. You move below and press a finger into her, her muscles contracting around you. She shivers and screams, your name is chewed up along with sounds and other noises that could pass for speech.

 

You unravel the stone-cold legislacerator slowly, building her painstakingly until her muscles twitch from the exhaustion of not being able to release. Your lips press soft kisses to the insides of her thighs, making her claw at the cushions. When your skin, lips, _tongue_ press against her, she lets out a hard, short scream. Her legs clamp down on your head, your horns just avoiding being snapped off. You drag across her, loving her and every sound she barks out. At one point you think she tries to spit instructions at you, but she's too far gone to even form a coherent sentence.

 

You work her, replacing your lips with your hands again. She's shaking, not yet having been pushed over the edge. You decide to pay her a pittance and help her. Two of your fingers work at her, one hand holds her hip down. You drag your lips softly over her hips again, mapping her skin.

 

She whimpers when you press a tender kiss down on her warm-but-still-cool skin. When the tender kiss is followed by a harsh bite, she comes.

 

You bloody her, the love bite you inflicted pushing out her cold, clotted teal. The material that coats your hand is wiped off on the cushions and you admire her face. She's so beautiful like this, it's so sad she hardly ever lets you see it.

 

She hides her face or she covers yours, but she won't be doing that today.

 

You strip the last of your clothing and push yourself upon her. She whimpers, soft and sensitive from her recent release. You swivel between rough and gentle, your hips snapping up into her and loving, soft presses. You worry her neck, biting and sucking to show her _associates_ just how well into the grungy threshcutioner she is.

 

She's careful not to leave bruises on your face and neck. She may want to injure you in a criminal way, but she doesn't want you dead. Instead, she marks the rest of you. Your body is a testament to how far you'll let her go. Claw marks, long since opened and scarred over twine with the training scars and burns from your armor. Her nails leave punctures in your ass that ensure sitting will be a difficult feat for a while.

 

You groan when you feel her come again, her muscles crushing and pulling. You bite her to keep your own exclamation in your throat. You've got the better of her this time, you've gotta keep it that way.

 

You calm down with your teeth still lodged in her shoulder.

 

She's panting underneath you, the sweat on her face sticking her hair and rolling off in beads. You kiss her temple and she smiles softly at you.

 

There's nothing more beautiful than Terezi Pyrope when she comes.

 

“I hate how much I love you,” you whisper to her, your voice harsh.

 

She laughs slightly and circles her arms around you. “I love how much you hate me.”

 

“I don't even know if we're red or not.”

 

“Who gives a fuck, once I move up to head legislacerator on this ship, we can have some completely disgusting rules about quadrants and their fillers. We'll have new social norms about what you're allowed to do with them.”

 

You kiss her, soft and once. You like that idea, even though you know it might not come to fruition in your lifetime. “I think it's red right now.”

 

She closes her eyes and presses her face to your neck. “Red as you, red as me. Brilliant red and twice as sweet.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I decided to make it into a twoshot.

 As far as your superiors know, your eyesight is limited but fine. Your glasses are necessary, not only as a cover but in that cover as well. You don't really know how well it would fly if anyone above you knew that you could _actually_ smell their fear when you tell them so.

 

Your name is Terezi Pyrope and you are presiding over a trial tonight.

 

A small red boy, it was bound he would end up here before the end of his life. Lowbloods on your ship either become slaves or become criminals. Few make it elsewhere, many joining up with the military both for protection and to protect.

 

 _Your_ boy joined up for his own reasons.

 

Once the two of you became old enough for conscription, it was difficult for Karkat to maintain his anonymity. Militant positions are one of the few that allow you keep your blood a secret as many positions govern through skill. That, and it doesn't matter the lifespan of someone who carries the Empire, for there are always others eager to take up arms.

 

You read the small black cherry-flavored boy his rights and the crimes filed against him. Theft, in the 1st degree, attempted murder in the 1st degree, conspiracy to commit murder in the 1st degree. All charges filed by the highblood they were targeted against.

 

You tell him to plead his case.

 

He was avenging his moirail, murdered unjustly in the cull. She was a soft green and not yet fit to die, but had denied the highblood's own pale advances. Theft was to retrieve an item of his departed pale mate. Attempted murder was in a blind rage to avenge her.

 

He is penitent, you can tell. However, the false sincerity oozes from him and makes the air thick with his lies. You enjoy the stink, think it is fitting for one in his position.

 

He is not sorry _for_ the attempt, he is sorry it stopped _at_ attempt.

 

You kill him anyway. He is executed there in the gallows, his fate sealed the moment the noose is tightened around his neck. The executioner reads him his last verse, a point taken from your scriptures about the fates of the naturally departed, justly departed and prematurely departed.

 

The lever is pulled and you taste his neck breaking, the soft fracturing under his small body.

 

You feel pity for him; he reminds you how easy it is to die and how difficult it is to remain alive. You smile, confident that your boy will not meet this fate. You protect his status and his life, making sure that no one in your levels ever even thinks of discovering just how sweet he is.

 

You miss him.

 

It's been a few nights since he left on an assignment and he should be returning today. You are wrought with anxiety and anticipation; he's never quite right for a bit after an assignment.

 

Such is his choice, though.

 

You leave the execution, retiring to your block for the night. You take off your uniform, placing it meticulously for the sanitation drones to take and wash. Your mirror confuses you slightly, the colors bouncing off of it fake and tasteless. You put on new clothing, something you won't mind getting harmed.

 

You make sure to get something that shows the marks Karkat left on you the last time the two of you were together. You smile to yourself, remember a few days ago. He was rough, even animalistic and you knew it was because of his mission, assignment, _life_.

 

_Such is his choice, though._

 

You sit down, read a book, wait for him. You know he'll come straightaway to you; he needs you just as much as you need him. His red and black confusion means nothing in the face of his addiction and it means nothing to you. The boy is perfect to and for you, keeping him cramped up in a box is no fun.

 

Sure enough, he arrives shortly after you finish chapter 11 of your book.

 

He takes your block by force, hitting the door angrily before even attempting to enter your passcode. You laugh at his frustration from inside of the room, finding great joy in his inability to try doing things the easy way.

 

Perhaps that's one of the main reasons you love him.

 

He finally enters, and you are displeased to notice that his armor is missing. The familiar clank of the metal and the tang of gray are absent from your room. You pout at him, opening your arms for the small man.

 

He comes over to you readily, folding himself in your embrace. The softness of his shirt is much different than the boy underneath. “You missed me?” you ask, your smile audible.

 

“Fuck, it was terrible Terezi. I'm never leaving this ship again,” he replies, his face in your neck.

 

“Want to hear about the kid we killed tonight?”

 

“No.”

 

“Want to tell me about the kid you killed yesterday?”

 

“Fuck no.”

 

You tell him anyway. “He was small and red like you. Not as sweet though, much more malice.” You press your smiling face to his hair so he can feel your grin. “No one's ever as sweet as you, that's why I always wait for you to get back. They're just sweet enough to remind me of you and it drive me crazy,” you whisper into his wiry hair as you move closer to his ear. You punctuate the statement with a sharp nip to his ear and he's caught between a groan and a whine.

 

He sits up in your lap and presses his lips to yours simply, pulling away after only a moment. He leans your foreheads together, his whisper ghosting over your lips. “I've missed you so goddamned much, I can't stand it. It's like every time I leave this fucking ship, it's to do a worse assignment.”

 

You smile and brush your lips over his. “You have to cull another kid soon?”

 

He takes a hand and removes your glasses. “Not for a week, I think.”

 

“Just stay in the block with me.”

 

His mouth quirks to the side and you can taste his blood this close. His eyes are still the same gray as they were when you were small, not filling like yours should and everyone else's had. Perhaps it's his mutation, perhaps it's just him.

 

“I wish I could, but there's an official that's been riding me lately.”

 

“I can always tell them to stay off, I _am_ in a place where I can do that,” you answer and you don't feel like talking anymore. You press yourself to him, your lips hungry for his.

 

He pushes back eagerly and you get a sense of just how much he's missed you. Not just the sex he misses, but you, being with you.

 

You're in a similar shape for him.

 

Your soft touches and kisses become harder as time wears on, the both of you getting more and more worked up. You can feel his excitement and you grin as he worries at your neck.

 

You nudge him softly. “Karkat.”

 

He makes a grunting noise that you assume means he's heard you.

 

“C'mon, switch.”

 

“Not right now, 'Rezi.”

 

You tug the collar of his shirt to the side and sink your teeth into his shoulder, effectively jumping him out of his state.

 

He curses. “Fuck, Terezi, that better not leave a mark.”

 

You kiss the spot. “Get off me and I won't leave another one.”

 

He huffs at you, annoyed, but leaves your lap. You stand and push him back down into the seat, following him into the piece of furniture. You straddle him and he gives a whining push of his hips.

 

You press back and remove his shirt. The article comes off and you get an unobstructed awareness of his chest. You can taste the lapses in his flesh where he's been scarred, both by you and the demands of your culture. He tastes wonderful, a mix of cherry candies and thick smoke, a scent unrepeatable by any other in the universe.

 

You place one hand on the back of his neck, bringing his face to yours again. He kisses you eagerly, wanting so much for you to just have at him.

 

You move your other hand to the front of his pants, his bulge pressing urgently against the fabric. He moans upon immediate contact, pulling his face away from you get a breath of air. His fingers clutch the arms of the chair, the plush straining under his grip.

 

You frown at him, pressing against him harder. He let's out a pent up breath and you can smell the dangerous way his face fills with red.

 

You're worried about him. He's hardly ever this easy to get going, even on days where the two of you haven't been together in perigees because of your difference in careers. He cries out soon, finding your teasing enough to shove him over the edge,

 

You get off of him and admire your work. He's a puddle of himself, sweating and undone from a few simple touches. You sigh in frustration, both at yourself and your predicament.

 

You lean forward to remove his soiled pants. “Karkat...” you murmur as you liberate him of the garments.

 

His voice is muffled, his hand covering his face. “Oh, _God,_ ” is his response. You finish taking off his clothes so he's just sitting there in the chair. He's docile, a hand cupping and hiding his face.

 

You frown even harder and remove your own garments. You strip down and you know he's looking at you as you remove each piece. You can taste his gaze when your shirt is pulled up and over your hair, feel the way he watches each twitch of your muscles. Your pants are short work and you hear the way his breathing stutters when your underclothes come off.

 

You go back to him, straddle his lap. He's eager and reserved at the same time, his hands finding purchase on your hips and his gaze directed somewhere around your right knee. You bring his face to you.

 

“Something wrong, candy boy?” you ask him. You set yourself to rubbing against his bulge, his excitement not having diminished from your earlier attention.

 

He grips your hips more tightly, his claws cutting you in a criminal manner. He kisses you and you gasp into his mouth, but he eats the sound, taking what you offer him.

 

“Fuck,” he mutters, pressing his hips back against you. “Just get on with it, Terezi.”

 

You tease your lips against his ear as you slide yourself onto him. He shouts; your name, curses, noises, words that don't even pass for language.

 

You roll your hips forward and hugs you closer, You hoist your arms over his shoulders and grip his horns, you need something to ground yourself. He cries out when you start to rub slow circles into them, his face buried in your collar bone. His hands grip your ass, pulling your hips in rhythm with his thrusts.

 

You let out the beginnings of a scream when he manages to get his teeth around your breast, teasing you. He bites the peak of one, tugging the nub of flesh, his hips jerking haphazardly up into you. You scream, the sensations colliding together behind your eyes. He smells completely red, redder than you thought possible, his desperation spurring you on towards completion.

 

You grit your teeth as he continues to mark your chest, rolling yourself in his lap. You're jealous of him, jealous of what he's allowed to do to you. He's the criminal under the nose of the Empire and he's allowed to show everyone that he loves you every chance he gets, get to show just how loudly he can make you scream. You wish you could help the way you want to harm his neck, face, lips, wish you could help the way it would get him killed on the spot.

 

He calls out your name when he comes, and you come too.

 

You hide your face in his hair as you slump into him, your muscles twitching and clenching under your skin. You sit there, around him for God-knows how long. His eyes are closed, the circles of gold and gray hidden by a thin layer of smoke and ash.

 

After a bit, he begins kissing your neck. His lips feel a little charged against your skin in this state, the way he loves your neck making you ache with longing.

 

You nudge him a little, telling him to remove his claws from your hips. He obliges you, not saying anything.

 

You move off his bulge, teal and red puddling between the two of you. The amount of liquid is small as usual, you'll clean it up later. Right now you settle back down into his lap and he opens up for you, allowing you to rearrange his insides any way you like.

 

“Want to talk about our future yet, or is it too soon?” you ask, completely wrapped around each other.

 

He blows air out at you. “It's the future, what's the point in talking about it?”

 

“We could name the ways we've broken rules.”

 

“It'd be a list longer than your resume.”

 

You smile at his horns. “Was this red or black?”

 

He knocks horns with you. “Fuck if I know, how red was the boy you killed earlier?”

 

You take note of him using the word 'kill' and not 'cull.' “He was a red like Aradia, dark but still there.”

 

“Then that's us, for now at least. Dark read, black and flushed together to form something new.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried Terezi's perspective this time and it doesn't feel too horrible. Thoughts?


End file.
